


And In The Darkness, A Glow

by violent_ends



Series: Involuntary Revelations [2]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Background Chloe Decker, Background Ella Lopez, Dan Espinoza Finds Out, Gen, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Devil Reveal, Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV) Wing Reveal, Near Death, Post-Season/Series 04, Winged Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:31:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20725760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violent_ends/pseuds/violent_ends
Summary: Dan gets shot in the field and is about to die in the hospital from a complication, until he wakes up from sleep to find a feather glowing over the wound. And Lucifer staring at him.[post-S4 and implied return from Hell; Dan Devil reveal]





	And In The Darkness, A Glow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [superlc529](https://archiveofourown.org/users/superlc529/gifts).

> This can be read as an independent story since it deals exclusively with Dan finding out, but chronologically speaking it follows Part 1 of what is now a series, thanks to the lovely reader who suggested a second part and to whom I gift this story. A Part 3 with the Trixie reveal is actually taking shape in my mind, too. In the meantime, enjoy!

It doesn’t look good.

Dan's whole body tells him as much, just to make sure he doesn’t misunderstand the looks on the doctors' faces. Or Chloe’s. She brings Trixie in to visit him as often as possible, the same way he did for her when she was poisoned, with the same look of badly concealed dread in her eyes. Colleagues bring him cards and flowers. Ella sneaks in food the hospital staff certainly wouldn't approve of. Maze videocalls him now that she hunts bounties again to distract herself from thoughts of Eve, telling him about car chases and ninja fights. Amenadiel talks his way into staying long after visiting hours to watch movies with him when he isn’t too busy helping Linda with Charlie. Lucifer trails silently behind Chloe, barely even speaking if not for his small, tentative _Hello, Douche_ that Dan assumes are meant to cheer him up, giving him a sense of normality.

The bullet wound isn’t healing well, even after surgery: he feels weaker and weaker by the day, eyes fluttering closed too easily and staying shut for too long. A moment of distraction on the job was all it took, a second too long to fire, then the punch of a lead rocket colliding with his stomach. The risks of the job and all that: it happens, they’ve all been through it. Dan is not sure there will be a second time, though.

He hates that it has to go this way: slowly, almost sleepily, the life drained out of him by a vile, mean infection. If he had to choose, he’d rather go down fighting. At this point, he would have preferred to be killed by that bullet in the field, like a hero. Well, a close approximation of one.

God, he has so many regrets. Not fighting harder for Chloe when it could have made a difference. Not seeing his little monkey grow up and become a woman, as fierce as her mother. Not spending more time with Charlotte, but this is a regret that would have stayed with him even in life. Losing his way, falling prey of his darkest instincts; taking justice in his own hands when the system failed him or colluding with criminals for personal revenge.

Trixie tells him he will be okay and he pretends to believe her. Amenadiel shows him pictures of his son and he pretends like he'll be there to smile and laugh at new ones. Chloe asks for his advice about her most recent case and he pretends to find comfort in helping her. Ella drones on about some Mexican sitcom he should _definitely_ check out once he recovers and he pretends he will. Lucifer looks at him in a silence that is maddeningly infuriating because to see him quiet is clearly a sign of impending doom, and he pretends like he doesn’t want to punch him in the face (he wouldn’t be able to, so he also pretends like he could, in his mind).

There is a high chance that his life is coming to an end and he isn’t _done_. It leaves the taste of bile in his throat, pricks like tears at the corner of his eyes. This sense of leaving things unfinished is haunting, almost as much as the things he blames himself for. He doesn’t feel forgiven, mostly because he hasn’t forgiven himself, and if there’s someone on the other side he’s pretty sure His judgement won’t be more merciful than his own.

Everything is spiraling down into restless oblivion, days merging into one another until time stops making sense. Dan is sleeping or at the threshold of death, he can’t be sure. His mind is drifting in a pitch-black void, struggling behind his eyelids to see the light of the day again, and he doesn’t completely feel his body where it’s resting on the hospital bed. Maybe he has already abandoned it and doesn’t know it yet.

Something touches his skin, brushing delicately where the bullet hit. A nurse medicating the wound and changing the gauze, he assumes. Usually it feels different though, more quick and efficient, with more movements and steps being followed until they patch him up again. This time, it’s just a prolonged, applied pressure that weirdly doesn’t hurt. On the contrary, it feels warm and fuzzy as if some sort of _light_ is seeping into his very core.

He shifts in his sleep, but not to shy away from it; and after a moment of surprise he feels his limbs relaxing, the pain lessening, the numbness retreating as some form of liquid energy is poured back into his being like water in a jar. The steady, pulsing thrumming of _life_ in his lungs and in his veins slowly wakes him, his eyes groggy and sluggish but his mind increasingly aware of his surroundings, and that’s when he sees it.

There’s a feather on his stomach, white like fresh snow reflecting the rays of the sun, so white it’s almost blinding. And it’s _glowing_. He can see and feel skin and muscle fusing together again, as they should, and sense the stinking, rotting, infected flesh around the wound begin to heal. Even more shocking, the feather starts disappearing, losing texture as Dan's skin regains the pink, lively quality it had lost along the way.

_It must be a dream_, he thinks. An illusion concocted by his mind to give him a false sense of hope, or a vision like those people have in a coma (maybe he _is_ one of them and this is the proof). Maybe he is already dead. But when he looks up from the now perfectly intact skin of his belly, he sees _Lucifer_ of all people, his hand hovering over the point where the feather used to lay. And if there’s one thing in his life he’s certain of, is that Lucifer is the last person he would want to be seeing in this sort of dream reality or limbo between this world and the next. At the very least, he thought there would be his _abuela_ waiting for him to guide his soul or whatever this is: certainly not the nightclub owner turned civilian consultant turned his ex wife’s annoyingly charming boyfriend.

Dan would be cursing at the irony of it (must be some kind of karma or divine punishment, to be bound to share eternity with an illusory version of that smug British dick), if it wasn’t for the shock that grips his throat at the realization that, real or not, Lucifer has _wings_. They have the same color and texture of the feather that healed him (that he imagined healing him?), and spread out behind him, seemingly sprouting from inside his black jacket.

“Bloody hell, you were supposed to stay asleep!” Lucifer curses, and only now Dan's head snaps to the side to stare at his face as he pants harshly, panic rising. “Come now, don’t freak out, I-"

A scream, primal and terrified, bursts out of Dan's mouth; and with a quick, flapping noise in the air, Lucifer is gone.

*

There is only one tiny problem to be sorted out, now: Dan is alive. Well, it isn’t a problem in itself, of course, more like a blessing – no, a _miracle_. Everyone calls it that and even doctors are puzzled by his sudden recovery, but they shrug and say that sometimes it happens, some things can’t be explained, some people are just fortunate or born under a lucky star, same old same old.

But Dan knows what happened. Or at least, he thinks he does. He only started feeling better after that... incident. Has Lucifer’s low-key craziness finally rubbed off on him? Or was it... real? And if it was, it would mean that Lucifer never lied. About anything. _Ay, Dios mío._

While on medical leave (clearly unnecessary, but given to him for good measure), he paces back and forth in his apartment for hours. He constantly checks on his stomach as if expecting the skin to tear open all of a sudden, revealing that the last few days have been a dream and that he never truly healed. But days go by, life resumes, the world keeps spinning, and everything seems normal. Except for the fact that it isn’t.

He avoids Amenadiel's calls, texts him to say he needs time to himself to process the fact that he almost died. Amenadiel seems oddly understanding, but then again he’s always had this calm and soothing vibe about him. Because it turns out that he might be... God, he can’t even say it. He always thought the two brothers had some kind of strict religious upbringing or that they were raised in a cult of fanatics. The truth, instead, might be even crazier.

He tries to dismiss it, of course, but he can’t. Whether it happened in reality or in his mind, he got better when all hope was lost and the cause must be related to Lucifer. All he needs to do is ask him to... show them... again. Easy as pie. No biggie.

When he goes back to work, Dan lets his cheering and clapping colleagues lull him into a sense of safety, comfort him with the notion that they can all just focus back on their job to make Los Angeles a better place. The precinct throws him a brief welcome party with cake and champagne; Chloe hugs him tightly with tears in her eyes and Ella gifts him a huge teddy bear that probably won’t even fit through his apartment’s door, but he kindly accepts it and smiles at her fondly.

Lucifer, as oddly quiet as he'd been in the hospital, warily approaches him only in the end when people start moving back to their desks and tasks for the day. Dan has the distinct feeling of two sets of eyes staring at his back, and when he turns around, he glimpses Ella and Chloe hastily shutting the blinds of the lab cubicle. Mmm.

“I'm glad you’re back, Daniel" Lucifer tells him, studying him intently. “The station was not the same without your douchiness.”

Dan would normally answer with a snarky remark or just glare at him, and maybe he should, letting their back-and-forth routine of insults resume and forgetting about what happened entirely. Instead, he sighs and steels himself for what he knows he has to do next.

“Follow me, now" he says without meeting Lucifer’s gaze. The other man - _please let him be a man_ \- follows him silently inside one of the interrogation rooms. When Dan doesn’t make a move to sit, but starts pacing instead, Lucifer gracefully falls into the metal chair on the other side of the table.

“I saw... _something_, at the hospital" Dan starts, still unable to look him in the eye. “You.”

“Well, I visited many times" Lucifer shrugs, crossing his long legs in front of him as he sits slightly at an angle, slumped against the back of the chair. His casual attitude starts to poke at Dan’s already fraying nerves, and he feels like he’s about to break in half like an elastic band pulled too harshly.

“No, I mean... when I got better. You were healing me,” he swallows, still pacing, “with a feather.”

“Daniel, are you trying to dig your way to Hell with all that pacing? Goodness me, you’re making me nauseous.”

The mention of Hell, of another one of Lucifer’s delusions that might actually turn out to be real – with him ruling over it, he ponders with a shiver –, makes Dan finally snap and stop to glare at him, his hands in the air.

“Goddamnit, Lucifer! You know what I’m asking you! Stop playing freaking games with me!”

Lucifer inhales at his sudden outburst, but otherwise remains perfectly still. For a moment, they just stare at each other, the silence clouding Dan's mind with suffocating anxiety. Because the problem is, he doesn’t know what to do _next_. He spent all this time thinking about whether he should dig deeper or not, but didn’t give himself a moment to settle on a reaction if the answer turns out to be the one he dreads.

But he knows it’s coming. Somehow he feels it in the air, because it would give an explanation to the terrified bundles of shaking limbs Lucifer leaves behind whenever an interrogation gets out of hand, or when he’s the first on scene to apprehend a criminal. They cry for their mothers, for forgiveness, for a priest to take their confession and Dan always thought Lucifer was just capable of being very, _very_ intimidating – ties to the mob, perhaps? Something shady connected to all the favors he grants, that’s for sure. Plus it wouldn’t be a problem for him to hire a paid assassin with all the cash he seems to have, and that always seems to work as a threat.

It never really sat right with him, though. But he always brushed it off, sucked into new brands of drama or complicated cases to solve. Just... focused on living life, day in and day out. Well, no more. If the Devil himself shares his same air, he needs to know it.

“Oh, I know what you’re asking me" comes Lucifer’s reply. “But I would like to point out that you haven’t actually asked any _question_ so far.”

Dan takes a deep breath.

“Show me your wings, if you have any.”

“Still not a question.”

“Jesus C-"

“Wrong guy.”

“_Lucifer!_”

Finally, Lucifer stands up from the chair, straightening his suit.

“Very well,” he sighs, tilting his head right and left as if to stretch his neck before exercising, “but please, try not to scream this time. Ruffles the feathers.”

And without skipping a beat, the wings spread out again behind him, sending a strong gust of air in Dan’s face. He stumbles backwards and automatically covers his mouth with one hand, staring. _It’s true, it’s true, it’s true, it’s true, it’s-_

The wings fold back and disappear, cutting off his train of thought. Dan’s mind is reeling, trying to give an explanation to the fact that they are somehow _inside_ Lucifer now.

“Lovely" Lucifer declares, clapping his hands together. “Now, if that’s all-"

“No, that’s not _all_!” Dan interjects, voice raising. “You have _wings_, dude!”

_Dude? Really?_ What should he call him now though, Dark Lord? He can feel a headache start to press against his temples.

“Yes, the very same pesky little buggers that saved your life” Lucifer scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re welcome, by the way. Amenadiel wanted to do it, but somehow I felt like it was my job. I'm sure I'll come to regret it in no time, though.”

Sarcasm aside, the confession comes like a stab to the chest, with the realization that in his whirlwind of emotions, Dan didn’t even stop to think about that. About the fact that the only reason he found out was Lucifer healing him... somehow. With his angel wings. Dan never thought the Devil would still have those. No one ever depicts him that way. He feels stupid, ungrateful, ashamed.

“I- You’re right, I’m sorry. Thank you, for that. I owe you one.”

His eyes widen at the words that just spilled out of his mouth. He owes Lucifer. He is in the Devil’s debt. A laugh, high-pitched and amused, snaps him out of his terrifying thoughts.

“Oh, you poor sod, you should see the look on your face!” Lucifer chuckles, taking a seat again. “I'm not going to collect any favor from you! Nor your soul, if that’s what you’re worried about. Plenty of douches in Hell to last for a lifetime, I assure you.”

It’s... kind of funny, and reassuring, but the idea that Lucifer _actually_ knows who resides in Hell is, quite frankly, bone-chilling. Oh, and the fact that Hell _exists_.

“Hey, just... don’t joke about that" he says, disgusted by how small his voice sounds. God, he hates being scared, feeling weak or vulnerable. But how else is he supposed to feel in front of someone who is not even _human_? Who’s been around since the beginning of time, or even before the concept of time itself came into existence?

“What, about Hell?” Lucifer keeps chuckling, but his expression suddenly turns serious as he takes in Dan’s state, the slight twitch in his hands, the wide-eyed look on his face, as if realizing only now that he’s basically going through a major life crisis in the span of minutes. “Oh. My apologies. I know it must be scary, to find out that it’s real. But... you’re a good man, Daniel. I'm sure you’ll defeat whatever demons still hide behind that mind-numbingly boring façade of yours.”

Dan has serious doubts about that, but the sentiment seems genuine and good-hearted (if he ignores the end of the sentence), so he tentatively smiles. Awkwardness quickly settles between them, after that. Dan has a lot of questions, some sillier than others: _What are you even doing here? Do you actually need to eat, or do you steal my pudding just for the fun of it? Why are you British, exactly?_ But being a father, his thoughts go to his daughter first.

“What about Trixie?” he asks, not even knowing what the question is supposed to mean. _What is she to you? Do you actually care for her, the same way she cares for you?_ Because of all the things he will have to process, Dan knows he won’t forgive Lucifer tricking Trixie into liking him if there is no real affection behind it. Trixie adores her mother's boyfriend and Dan can’t stand the thought of someone deceiving her.

“What about her? She doesn't know about me, if that's what you’re asking. But I don’t think it will take that long for that smart little urchin to figure it out. She’s a force of nature, despite being your offspring.”

Dan ignores the insult to his intelligence – at this point he’s almost good at blocking them out entirely – to appreciate the compliment to his daughter’s. Lucifer sounds almost proud of her, and it has to be born out of fondness, he decides. But is it a mask? How can any of them discern the truths from the lies when he exists to tempt and corrupt them?

And then, Dan focuses on something else Lucifer just said, on the ease in his tone, on the assumption that Trixie is bound to find out eventually because Lucifer will still be a part of her life.

“Do you... plan on staying here... for a long time?” he asks cautiously.

Lucifer’s features harden, something sharp and dangerous flashing in his eyes. Dan has never been exactly scared of him but there has always been a recklessness to him that he finds offputting, a tendency to cause chaos around him without worrying about the consequences, and now he knows why.

“I plan on staying here for as long as the Detective wants me to" Lucifer informs him, chin high in defiance.

Dan assumes that won’t be long once Chloe finds out the truth – or has she already? He now remembers her words over the phone after surviving Pierce’s trap, about something that had been there in front of her eyes the whole time. Back then, the detail had been swept away in the mess that followed, or just flat-out ignored by Dan in the haze of losing Charlotte. But the possibility of Chloe knowing actually enrages him more: how could she not tell him? Lucifer is in her house _all the time_.

“So I should simply allow the Devil to hang out with my daughter and ex wife?” he asks, trying not to show the shudder of terror that threatens to shake him as he says the word out loud, as he officially acknowledges who - _what_ \- Lucifer is. Dan will definitely have to book more therapy sessions with Linda to process all this, hoping she won't have him hospitalized in some mental institution. Unless... she knows it, too?

The chuckle Lucifer gives him sends a renewed shiver down his spine.

“Allow the Devil" he mutters, repeating the words with a tint of mockery and disbelief. “It’s not up to you to _allow_ me to do _anything_, Daniel.”

Despite how inferior Dan suddenly feels (the sensation burning and itching under his skin, terrible and humiliating), he can’t help but puff up his chest at that, emboldened.

“Trixie is my daughter, Lucifer.”

“Yes, I _know_” Lucifer reminds him, exasperation vibrating on the edge before subsiding a little, shifting into a more pensive tone. “And you should know I would shield her and Chloe from bullets with my body. Which I have. It’ll probably end up killing me one of these days, as a matter of fact.”

Dan swallows down the guilt he is still fighting to let go of as he recalls sending Tiernan after Lucifer, putting Trixie’s life in danger. He remembers him kneeling down in front of the elevator, one of the thugs trembling under him on the floor. And he thinks he remembers, only now, bullet holes in Lucifer’s shirt but no blood. But then, why did he just say…

“Killing you? How- how is that possible? Shouldn’t you be, you know…”

“Immortal?” Lucifer supplies with an arched eyebrow, realizing Dan is having a hard time letting the word out of his mouth. “Why, yes, that would be one of my many lovely qualities. Except when the Detective is around, that is.”

Dan furrows his brow, puzzled.

“Why?”

For the first time, Lucifer looks hesitant. His jaw works soundlessly as he thinks about what to say. There is a truth he clearly doesn’t want to share – and not the only one, Dan presumes. How many things does he keep from them? How many misdeeds?

“I feel like I've answered enough of your douchy questions for a day" is what he ends up replying, crossing his arms over his chest before his expression turns smug again. “But don’t worry, I'll make arrangements so that when I die you can throw a celebration party at Lux. Drinks on the house, of course.”

Despite his confusion and fear, and despite what history and folklore whisper in his ear - _Don’t trust him, no matter what he says, because nothing will be true_ \- Dan knows he is hurt. Lucifer considers himself pretty good at hiding it, but he isn’t. He actually sucks at it, probably as much as Dan: in this, they are the same. They lash out when they feel attacked or right before they think it’s about to happen, white-hot rage blinding them. And he can’t believe he is thinking it, but he might have been a bit unfair to him.

Because Lucifer saved his life, in the hospital, and that should count for something. He saved Trixie’s life, in his penthouse, which _definitely_ counts for something. And he saved _Chloe_’s life when she was poisoned, somehow managing to retrieve a formula that was supposed to stay buried with the mastermind that engineered it. The memory gives him pause, although he’s sure that if he starts replaying everything that has happened since Lucifer sidetracked their existences, the questions will never stop spilling out.

“The antidote" he whispers, but he knows Lucifer heard him because he sits straighter on the chair, curious about the sudden change in the direction of the conversation. “How did you pull that off?”

Lucifer studies him for a long moment, and Dan almost wants to shrink under his gaze and disappear underground because he is in the presence of the _Devil_, Satan, Beelzebub and all that, who has been prancing about and around them for _years_ now. What does he see in them? Funny little dolls to toy with? Ants to study under a magnifying glass? What does he _get_ out of this? Because he has to be getting something, it’s how it works. He wouldn’t do anything without the promise of something in return.

“I died" Lucifer tells him, his eyes two hard black stones but somehow suddenly vulnerable, honest. Human. “I went to Hell, asked for the formula and had… a friend… resuscitate me.”

Dan's head threatens to start spinning, but he plants his feet firmly on the ground and holds his gaze, ignoring the absurdity of the mere concept of someone dying and coming back to life because clearly, that ship has sailed.

“How?”

“Defibrillator to the chest" Lucifer answers almost matter-of-factly, like it’s no big deal; then, his smile turns bitter and spiteful. “Enjoying this, aren’t you?”

He acts as if Dan could get satisfaction in hearing of someone else’s suffering, and it strikes him like a new bullet to the gut. Because he’s suddenly, painfully aware that this is the vibe he gives, now. Since… since Charlotte. Who is in Heaven, for real, because Heaven _is_ real and Amenadiel told him she’s there and he’s… an angel, too. A friend, even when Dan treats him like crap and ignores his invitations to hang out. And Lucifer… _Lucifer_. When it dawns on him, he can’t breathe.

“You… you love her" he whispers, and it’s not like he didn’t think so before, when he thought Lucifer was human; but recently he assumed his… _nature_ would make it impossible. “You _really_ love her.”

“Some Detective you are" Lucifer bites out, sarcasm promptly in place to downplay his weakness: his _true_ weakness, Dan realizes, more than the apparent mortality that goes with it. Is this the prize he gets out of a seemingly mortal life? The love of humans? Of Chloe? Does this mean all they have to do is just… accept him? The notion seems infuriatingly easy, like there must be a trick somewhere, but difficult at the same time.

Lucifer's face suddenly looks tired when Dan stares back at him – he clearly zoned out, and Lucifer hates to be kept waiting. Dan watches as he breathes out a long, defeated sigh.

“Listen, Dan, I understand" he says, calling him the same way everyone else does for the first time since the conversation started. “You already hated me when you thought I was human, so I can’t possibly imagine how much you despise me now. It’s nothing new to me, honestly. So I'll… take some time off. You won’t have to see me around for a while. Chloe can come visit me at the penthouse; your precious spawn won’t have to suffer my presence until you say otherwise. How does this sound?”

_Cruel_, Dan feels like answering automatically. _Unfair._

He is a Detective, he tells himself. He is trained to evaluate evidence, hard evidence, and base his conclusions on facts even when appearances might point in a different direction. People get framed all the time. Has Lucifer been framed, too? Painted as something he’s not, or at least something he doesn’t want to be anymore? Everyone seems to like him – which isn’t evidence, per se, because Dan knows it’s the charm and the accent and the clothes and the money, the smug indifference to the rules, the stern refusal to simply act the way he’s _supposed_ to accompanied by the satisfaction of always getting away with it scot-free.

But the thing is… Lucifer is not human. And yet, he still lives among them as an equal, or tries to. Their rules still apply to him: he might dance around them, but he works in service of the law, of all things, delivering human justice the same way he would the divine. And he didn’t… get away scot-free. He _fell_. He was punished. Dan had to do a deep dive into Wikipedia pages and way more intimidating websites to learn the specific details of what history says about it. Lucifer was, _is_, an angel fallen from grace. Heaven is real, and he was born in it, but he will never be allowed back in.

Dan is not an expert, of course, but he assumes as far as celestial punishments go, that’s a pretty harsh one. It’s also not his place to judge whether he deserved it or not: we're talking about _God_ here, so no, Dan is not going down that road because at this point it wouldn’t surprise him to be struck down by a bolt of lightning from the sky if he doubts His reasons too much. The point is, Lucifer is already living out the sentence that was decided for him, for his crime. Being Satan shouldn’t be a charge in a new trial, because that investigation has been conducted by a much, much higher power.

What Dan has to force himself to judge is what he’s seen with his own eyes. Lucifer is still insufferable, that isn’t bound to change anytime soon. Throws money around like it’s nothing (well, that finally has an explanation), rubbing in everyone’s faces how desired he is, how men and women fall at his feet at Lux or down the street or during sex parties described in disturbing detail over donuts as if he’s talking about a fishing trip instead of sex swings, whips and leather collars. At least it used to be this way, before he and Chloe got together, but now she is the one warming his bed and the thought still makes him a bit uncomfortable, if he has to be honest with himself.

Lucifer delivers mean jokes and insults that no one else would be allowed to live with without a scolding or a glare or a yelling session, smoothing the edges of his intolerable smugness with the carefully poured honey in his voice and the calculated, apologetic glint in his eyes - _dears_ and _darlings_ and _sweethearts_, fancy and thoughtful gifts (that is, until he sent a sex doll to Chloe by mistake, what was that about?), coffee cups delivered directly to the recipient’s desk with an exaggerated flourish that only highlights how out of place he is here at the precinct with his expensive suits and designer shoes.

These are all reasons to possibly dislike him, but not necessarily blame him. So what it all comes down to, in the end, is Charlotte. That, Dan still has a hard time forgiving.

“I don’t think I would be able to keep Trixie away from you even if I tried” he answers after a long moment, smiling to himself at his daughter’s determination, slowly morphing into the strength of a young woman under their eyes (a strength he will witness because he’s _alive_ and it’s thanks to Lucifer and for this, Dan has to at least reward him). “Honestly, I'd rather know you at the house with her instead of her booking Uber drives to sneak out to the penthouse in the middle of the night or something. But about us… I just don’t know, man. Charlotte… How could you let it happen?”

Pain simmers in Lucifer’s eyes at the question, but Dan can’t afford to feel sorry, not when pain is all he feels once he runs out of things to do to keep himself busy, once he’s alone in his bed at night. It might seem mean and it probably is, but maybe part of his suffering is also for Lucifer to share.

“I told the Detective the truth” Lucifer says, defensive, quietly agitated. “I told her Pierce was Cain, I-"

“You knew she wouldn’t have believed you!” Dan yells, suddenly walking toward the table to grip the edge across from where Lucifer is sitting and lean forward to speak directly in his face, fear and celestial reverence be damned. “Why didn’t you lead with the Sinnerman story instead? If he really was the very first murderer, _a_ murderer, how could you let him in Chloe’s life, in Trixie’s life? Chloe almost married him!”

Lucifer clearly doesn’t like to be reminded of that, or maybe it is the accusation that does it, but Dan could swear his eyes flash with red for a fraction of a second as he turns on the chair to stare back at him fully. Dan holds his gaze though, finding courage in his own anger, and watches as Lucifer closes his eyes, grits his teeth, exhales and opens them again, calmer.

“She thought I was jealous” he provides as an explanation. “Which I was, but… she wouldn’t have believed me anyway. That’s why I tried to get _proof_.”

Dan scoffs.

“So, Charlotte died to help you.”

Lucifer’s jaw tightens again, but when he speaks, he just sounds sad.

“She died because she was _good_, Dan. She shielded Amenadiel with her body without even thinking about it. That’s who she was, and that’s why she’s in Heaven where she belongs. I… I underestimated him, I know. I let my guard down, and for that I'm truly sorry. But… I killed him. To protect Chloe, and avenge Charlotte. I killed him and that’s… not something we’re supposed to do.”

_We_.

“You mean… angels?” Dan asks for confirmation, the word weird and foreign in his mouth now that he has to apply it to actual living and breathing beings. Lucifer nods silently.

“It’s not our place. Not that I was much of an angel back then, I suppose” he says quietly – it mostly seems like he’s talking to himself and Dan suddenly feels like he’s intruding on a private moment of anguished realization. “But I payed the price I had to pay, if it’s any consolation to you. Got my monstrous face back exactly when, for the first time, I actually wanted it gone.”

Dan isn’t exactly sure what he means, if he’s being literal or metaphorical, but he flinches involuntarily at the idea of Lucifer having a _different_ face, the one of books and legends and haunting paintings and drawings that kept him awake through several nights. Lucifer notices and chuckles amusedly, once again leaning back against the back of the chair to break their staring contest.

“Don’t worry, I’ll never show it to you" he says around a smile that is probably supposed to be reassuring, but turns out to be vaguely intimidating and patronizing. “You can’t handle it. You’re no Miss Lopez.”

Jesus, are they _all_ in the know except for him? Where has his head been this whole time? Oh, right, down a tunnel of self-destruction, only recently starting to see the light at the end. At least he'll have someone to talk to, if he really wants to see a silver lining in all this. But still he gulps, palms clammy with sweat when his hands close into fists at his sides and open again, uselessly trying to grasp the magnitude of what everything means. He doesn’t know. He feels small, powerless, and he hates it.

“If you could still take some time off, I think it would be for the best" is all he manages to say.

Lucifer nods in confirmation and stands up to leave. He hesitates at the door, one hand in the air as if to push it open, then he drops it at his side and turns to address him one last time.

“I'm sorry about Charlotte" he tells him, then hesitates again, as if what will come next is a secret he’s not sure Dan can be trusted with. “I know it’s not enough for you, but… it’s beautiful, up there. Not enough partying and booze for my taste, but" – a self-deprecating, almost sheepish chuckle – “a paradise by all means. You don’t have to worry, Dan.”

Dan would like to tell him that he worries alright: about being alone, about not being the man and the father Trixie deserves, about not being able to meet Charlotte again because now that he knows the possibility is real, the thought of screwing it up with his own doing is _terrifying_. And Lucifer is a walking, talking (God, so much talking) reminder that there are matters beyond Dan's comprehension, matters that make him want to wrap Trixie in a blanket and snatch her away on a deserted island where no one will find them. So he mutters nothing more than a “Thank you", and lets the Devil leave the room with his head down.

Because for now, all Dan knows is that he needs a moment. A long, long moment.

Hopefully, there will be light at the end of this one, too.


End file.
